Harsh breaths echoed in the silence of the Forensics' lab as Detective's Elliot Stabler and Olivia Benson stood over the prone bodies of two lab technicians. Dale Stuckey, who, before that day, they had dismissed as simply a somewhat incompetent and annoying lab tech, had turned out to be a nasty little sociopath. He first killed in an attempt to absolve himself of a mistake that had resulted in a killer walking free, then he killed or planned to kill multiple people whom he felt had belittled him.

His final victim, Ryan O'Halloran lay on the floor beside Stuckey. His big, blue eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling and his normally healthy complexion was chalky white. The front of his shirt was soaked with blood and Elliot could swear the stain was worse than when he had first seen the man, lying there with a knife protruding from his chest.

Elliot could hear Olivia calling for a bus and other officers, then felt her hands pressing her jacket to the multiple slash wounds adorning his chest. But his attention was on O'Halloran…bloody shirt…pale, clammy skin…tiny bubble of bloody spit appearing at the corner of his mouth….

"Shit!" Elliot bellowed, stepping none too gently over Stuckey, who grunted in pain. As Elliot dropped to his knees beside Ryan, Olivia pinned Dale to the floor and roughly cuffed his hands behind his back.

"How far out's that bus?" Elliot asked as he put Olivia's jacket on Ryan's chest, wadding it up over the wound.

Olivia didn't answer, as she was on her cell with Dr. Melinda Warner, the ME, hoping she could get to the lab sooner than the EMT's. That barely registered, however, as the moment Elliot applied pressure to O'Halloran's chest, he got a response.

Ryan jerked as though jabbed with a live wire, gasping for breath and bringing up greater amounts of frothy blood bubbles. His eyes were unfocused and glazed, roving wildly as he was wracked with violent tremors. His hands flew up, but didn't seem to have any target and his now squirming legs failed to find purchase on the smooth floor.

"Ryan!" Olivia joined Elliot by the young man's side, grabbing one of his flailing hands in her own. "Calm down, Ryan. Help's on the way. You'll be fine."

The tech groaned and gritted his teeth, tension in his body causing the tendons in his neck to bulge. After managing a few shallow pants, he gasped, "Dale…blood…"

"We got him, man," Elliot assured him, tossing a glance to where Dale was still lying in a stupor. "Woulda save ourselves a lot of trouble if we had hidden his body, huh."

In response, O'Halloran managed another wet gasp as the door banged open to admit Dr. Warner. On her heels were a pair of paramedics laden with equipment and a stretcher, several uniformed officers and, finally, Captain Don Cragen, Detectives John Munch and Odafin Tutuola and Dr. George Huang.

With an efficient flurry of activity, Dr. Warner and the paramedics displaced Elliot and Olivia from Ryan's sides. As the pair made their way toward Cragen, Olivia tossed a glare at Stuckey. To a pair of uniforms she ordered, "Lock him up."

Startled, they complied, hauling the still dazed man from the room.

"What the hell happened down here?" Cragen asked his detectives, looking from Stuckey in handcuffs, to Elliot's slashed chest, to the desperate rush to stabilize O'Halloran on the floor.

"The vic at Coney Island, Zimmer, Judge Donnelly…It was all Stuckey," Olivia said, accepting the handkerchiefs Huang, Munch and Cragen had produced and again attempted to address her partners injuries. "O'Halloran found a mosquito with the perps DNA in Zimmer's car…Stuckey stabbed Ryan and was about to kill Elliot when I got here."

With all the atrocities they saw in their work, some things could still horrify police officers. The idea of one of their own (though Stuckey hadn't really achieved that status yet) committing these recent crimes was a shock.

From the floor, the listened to various medical phrases, most of them unfamiliar with the terms, but aware they weren't great news.

"…hypovolemic shock…"

"…cardio/pulmonary penetrating injury…"

"…tachycardia…decreased systolic pressure…"

"Hemorrhaging! Get another rapid infusion line in now!"

"Pneumothorax…putting in a tube…"

"…if he goes into cardiogenic shock…."

"…Systolic BP at 90mmHg!"

"Pericardiocentesis. Now."

It seemed like both an eternity and only moments later when they bundled O'Halloran onto a stretcher, chest swathed in bandages, tube down his throat, a big needle sticking out of his chest like the tap on a keg and a series of IV's snaking out of his arms. Warner was actually straddling his waist, one of her hands buried under the gauze, the other squeezing the pump to assist his injured lung.

The paramedics pushed the stretcher out, shouting into their shoulder mounted walkies as they went. Just before they got to the door, the female paramedic glanced over her shoulder at Elliot. "One of you better get him to the ER. He's looking a bit shocky too."

With that, they were gone, leaving the others to stare at the floor, where blood and medical detritus littered the area. After a moment of silence, one of the remaining uniforms, a young man with sandy hair and freckles, asked, "How…I mean…Can we cordon off the crime lab as a crime scene?"

Cragen groaned and said, "Everyone out. Seal the doors till we figure that out."

"Call another unit…another precinct, even," Munch said, then, at the captain's curious look, he shrugged. "Our squad room got shot up in Baltimore. Letting those of us who were too close to it work the case was…not the best idea."

With a nod to Munch's experience, Cragen asked, "Anyone know who O'Halloran's next of kin is?"

TBC

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